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Better we die with a sword in our hands, fighting, than with one in our guts, submitting. As he stomps the earth, the spark-bird draws her body up into a rear. She stretches her limbs to paw at the rain and titan's wings buffet the air, spread wide from her flanks. It is her declaration of war, a toast. She is enlivened by the vows exchanged among warriors, and a spark of hope comes to life inside her that had long ago been snuffed by her own negligence. For so long, there was shame, for being so aloof all those years to the land of her birth when so many had spilled their blood in the name of it; some the same blood that pumps through her heart now, sending adrenaline racing through her veins. She stands with nostrils trembling, rain thoroughly wetting her body and more still falling, though not as heavily as moments ago. Volterra reaches out to touch her and she flinches as his maw whiskers her skin. The sparks suddenly *zap* loudly as she draws herself away (a few inches). It is not fear, but uncertainty; an unwillingness to relinquish her wildness, like a wild animal that runs when a human approaches. Intimacy is an unfamiliar thing to the lightning mare. She is a wild thing, lightning incarnate, feral and ferocious in her need to belong only to herself. But as the sky pours down over them, wetting their coats and bringing smells of sweat and testosterone into the air, Azulee feels something primal rise up inside her. She is emboldened by talk of war, and in the presence of such a stallion, Azulee feels a new heat between her legs. He is strong... his genes are strong, and she can not deny her attraction to him, nor her devotion to him. Yet, she is ever still, giving up nothing of the workings of her erratic mind. She cranes her neck to look at Volterra, her eyes ever fierce but now daring - just as much tempting him as it is a warning. |
My friends, I'm only flesh and bone but I won't let you die alone.
@volterra
